|
|
“How many voters did you have?” “One Hundred and Nineteen.” “And how many candidates?” “One Hundred and Nineteen.” “So everybody ran.” “Yes, and pretty much everyone voted for themselves.” “How many votes did you get?” “Four.” “You won the Kingship with four votes.” “That’s right. It was myself, my wife, my son, and a fourth unknown person who put this,” here Tobias tapped the top of his head, “crown on me.” William pointed with his beer bottle and said, “You’re not wearing a crown.” Tobias sighed. “I know. They’re so hard to come by these days. You either have to get an antique or have one custom made, and neither’s cheap.” The view switched to William standing alone before the window. “The problems of the King of Pluto don’t stop at the finding of an affordable crown. How do you get people to come to this frozen ball of rock and ice? True, there is Tombaugh Station, the local Guard base also used by the Navy. But the thirty-or-so Guardsmen and spacers stationed there aren’t enough to keep the Plutonian economy running by just being here. The question: how can Pluto make money? The answer: beer. Outside of the production of food, oxygen, and clean water which are requirement for all space habitats, beer is the single largest product of Pluto. What beer is brewed on Pluto you ask? Hades Beer: It’s hell on the liver. And I’m not making that up.” William held up a bottle, and the camera zoomed in so the label could be clearly read. Running a finger along the words William read out loud, “‘Hades Beer: It’s hell on the liver.’” The image returned to normal as he lowered the bottle. “If you’ve never heard of it, that’s not surprising.” Once more William and Tobias sat at the table. “How much of the beer made on Pluto is consumed on Pluto?” Tobias lowered his bottle and answered, “Roughly eighty percent.” “Roughly eighty percent?” “Well, we’re not always sure how much we make.” Tobias reached out to stop William from asking, and explained, “When most of the people in the brewery and the accountants are drunk, the numbers don’t always add up.” “But still, roughly eighty percent is consumed here instead of being sold offworld.” Tobias nodded. “Well, the way we look at it, if we drink most of it, we have to go make more. That’s how we stay in business.” William looked at the camera and said, “Makes sense.” “Especially if you drink enough,” Tobias added. William took a sip of beer, thought for a second, then said, “You’re right. It does make more sense.” After a short chuckle, he asked, “Where does the other roughly twenty percent go?” “A small percentage goes sunward. Some clients, such as The Lowell Hotel enjoy having a range of drinks from across the solar system. But most of our beer goes out to the Oort Cloud in Naval and Guard vessels.” “I thought the Human Republic Navy and Guard were dry?” “They are.” Tobias shrugged, “But that doesn’t mean the spacers are.” Standing before the window again, William said, “If you think Pluto is home to nothing but drunks, well…” he searched for words for a few seconds before settling on, “well, you’d be right. Here in the outer reaches of the solar system, Pluto is known as the Party Planet: the long dead members of the IAU be damned. “Now, in case it has been a long time since your high school civics class, Pluto is the Territorial Seat of Kuiper Belt Territory Number One, and the overall seat for all ten Kuiper Belt Territories. Once each year, a representative is sent from each territory to Pluto for the three day Kuiper Belt Territorial Congress. What happens at these Territorial Congresses?” William raised a data pad and read, “Quote, ‘On August 14, 2105, the members of the Thirty-First Kuiper Belt Territorial Congress met. Roll was taken, showing all were present. The members then bitched for about an hour about paying too much in taxes to the Republic. The meeting then adjourned and the remainder of the three day Congress was spent at a kegger.’ Unquote.” Lowering the pad William explained, “That is the official record of last year’s Congress, on record in Parliament. Now, the important thing to note, it is not three Earth days they speak of, but three Plutonian days, each almost a week long. “What reason is there to have a three week kegger? Why, Demotion Day, of course.”
|